Threads of Fury
by Anapharya Du Mort
Summary: For the roguish Captain Jack Sparrow, the Caribbean grants him a life of emancipated piracy, ravishing women to be ravished, and an utter lack of adventure. To quench his thirst for danger, Jack finds himself facing a past he had willingly forsaken.
1. Default Chapter

Yet another darling fan fiction based upon the brilliance of Terry Rossio and Ted Whatshisname. First chapter does not quite pertain to any relevance as of yet, the rating doesn't like to go up until we're well unto the thickened plotline. I am not new to the adventures of Fanfiction.net, but I am quite rusty. Please review and I shall be inclined to acquiesce to any requests (depending on the request … ^^). Enjoy!  
  
Author's Note: I do not own any content (characters, lines, scenes, etc.) that is from Disney Production's "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl".  
  
An enticing dawn descended upon the dark horizon, a crimson flame seeping through the translucent clouds, and a sole ship broke the crystalline surface of the Caribbean. Humming a ridiculous tune out of the corner of his mouth, Captain Jack Sparrow found himself consulting the compass "that didn't point North".  
"Mmhm," he stared at the seemingly broken needle as his right hand absently steered the ship.  
Steps sounded from below, thudding against the stairway leading to the deck. His first mate, Anamaria's, mussed, brown head poked out from the opening. The morning beauty was broken by her harsh outcry in the stillness of dawn.  
"Cap'n! Where're ye aimin' ter sail this time? Ye promised me an answer by the mornin's break."  
Snapping the compass closed with an abrupt motion, Jack stared at the woman. Breaking into a toothy, er, gold-toothy, smile, he exclaimed, "Well, so I did! We'll be payin' some old friends a visit."  
"Yer old friends or old friends?"  
Eyes averted to the looming coastline, Jack grinned even wider – "Jus' old friends."  
  
Port Royal  
  
"Sir, I'll need a name and a shilling from you to keep this boat at dock," the dock quartermaster began.  
Bending over to stare the plump, balding man in the eyes, Jack smiled roguishly and said, "How about five shillings and we forget the name?"  
Looking flustered, the quartermaster stared at his African assistant, a boy of nigh twelve years old. The boy shrugged, with an excited look on his face. But the man continued, "I've done that before an –"  
"Seven shillings?" Jack dangled a pouch precariously in front of the man's face. The quartermaster paused, as his assistant nodded enthusiastically in approval.  
"Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Johnson," he said firmly, watching the pouch drop into his open book of names and ships. Pressing his hands together, Jack thanked the man while slowly walking away – backwards. When out of earshot, he turned around, laughed and muttered, "Old fool didn't even know that was his own purse!"  
  
Keeping to the shadows, and evading the multitude of British soldiers that adorned the dock, Jack made his way towards the market area of the port. Hiding behind statues and wagons, and ducking into little niches, the rascal made his way towards a door with a sign of a hammer and an anvil on it. He grinned mischievously in déjà vu, as he slowly pushed the door open and entered stealthily.  
  
The place had cleaned up considerably. The same sorry looking donkey stood quietly on the side, munching morosely upon musty hay. At least that snoring excuse for a drunk's gone. A 'thunk!' echoed behind him, and he spun around. Glancing at the dirty, snoring man in the chair, he sighed. I suppose some things ne'er change.  
There seemed to be a larger collection of swords on the rack, gleaming brilliantly in the dying sunlight that spilled through the edges around the windows. Int'restin'. He pulled one from the rack, and as he did so, he felt a menacing object touch his shoulder.  
"You're the one they're looking for."  
Turning around, Jack found himself staring straight into Will Turner's smirking face. The blacksmith's eyes danced lightly in the fading light, as his hand clutched a glimmering blade. Stepping backwards, Jack ran the length of his own blade down the other.  
"Do you think it wise, boy – crossing blades with a pirate?" He smiled with a smirk that equally matched his opponent's.  
He lunged at Will, swirling an arc of flashing steel into the air, and the fight began. Parry, lunge, deflect, lunge – they swept throughout the room, metal clashing with metal, smirks on both the men's faces.  
"So – d'ye still practice three hours a day with these things?" Jack shouted between attacks.  
Will laughed as he replied, "Course I do!" Moving quickly to dodge the pirate's blow at his right shoulder, "Maybe not three hours – but I practice all the same!"  
"Good to know ye haven't abandoned Mrs. Turner for a singing profession as a eunuch!" Jack grunted, as he evaded the donkey. "How is your bonnie lass, anyways?"  
"She's fine! A little cantankerous as of late, but fine!"  
Jack spun around and knocked Will off balance, directing the tip of his blade at the boy's neck. Looking down at Will, an impish grin playing upon his lips. "Why? The goods of a pirate turned blacksmith aren't good enough?"  
Will turned a heated red, "No."  
Jack reached out a hand and pulled the younger man to his feet.  
"Good to see ye again, Will. I hope ye aren' as aggressive with Mrs. Turner as ye are with swordplay."  
Will sniggered. "Good to see you, too. How fare the whores on Tortuga?"  
Jack rumpled his companion's hair. "Ye haven' changed, Will – some things in this world need t'stay as they are. Let's get us a drink, shall we?" 


	2. Chapter Two

Hopefully this isn't a huge flop. Hopefully.  
  
Author's Note: Same as before. I don't own anyone … except … a little new character. ^^  
  
"How did you get past the dock?"  
Jack lowered his mug of ale and grinned. "Ye ferget one thing, mate – I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow."  
"So you bribed the quartermaster. Figures."  
Jack beamed a phony smile at Will and continued drinking. Finishing one mug, he placed it, empty, next to the line of other mugs devoid of liquor on the table and reached for another.  
"What brings you back to Port Royale, Jack?"  
"Visitin' old friends."  
Leaning closer, Will laughed. "Why do I doubt it would be that simple?"  
"Well – visitin' old friends with a proposition."  
Will rolled his eyes. "I'm listening."  
Jack's kohl-lined eyes glimmered in the candlelight, glassy from intoxication, frenzied in the excitement of telling his tale.  
"Pirate's tales, as ye know, aren' much of fact. More superstition and embellishment – but in the tales, the truth is real. Nigh fifteen years ago, the British set sail from the Ivory Coast with a fleet of ships loaded with diamonds, ivory, gold, and slaves. 'Bout two weeks into the voyage, a plague breaks out in the crew, and slowly, one by one – they fell into fits of fever, vomiting, and internal ruptures. Pirates say the African slaves pulled a curse on them –", Jack waved his arms manically, " – Voodoo. But never mind that. The Africans tried to steer the fleet back to Africa, bringing them back to native soil. But they never made it. Their ships were blown off course, sending the fleet crashing into islands in the Spanish Main. And of the treasure hidden inside these ships? There's ne'er been a word uttered since."  
The captain stared the silent man. Will's brow was furrowed deeply.  
"It's a cursed treasure, then."  
Jack averted his eyes to his drink. "Aye."  
"Haven't you had enough of cursed treasure? The Aztec gold didn't frighten you enough? Are you seeking to get this curse placed on yourself?" Will whispered savagely.  
Jack winked. "It's the risk that makes it all the more int'restin'." He downed the rest of his mug. "Jus' a proposition, mate. I haven' signed ye on or anything. Think about it." He swept his tattered hat from the table and plopped it on his head, turning to go.  
"What makes you so sure that you can find it?" Will rose and followed the man out of the door.  
Lurching forward, and spinning around, Jack faced him and smiled an aloof grin. Lifting his hat slightly from his head, he shrugged – "I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow, mate."  
  
"Even then! It's a madman's mission!"  
The humid night air of the Caribbean pressed down upon the night-life inhabitants of Port Royal. Cloaked in the gloom of dimming lights, the two men walked down a small side street in the rougher districts of the port. Jack swayed as he walked, staring pointedly at passing bosoms belonging to girls with garishly painted faces. Hmm, bosoms. Better than Tortuga. At least no Giselle, or Vanessa …  
Will clapped him on the shoulder and led him down an alleyway.  
"Jack. Do not do this. It's insane. It's worse than insane. It's … mad. You're mad."  
His speech slurred even more than usual, Jack shouted, "I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow and I'm mad!"  
Will slapped his hand over Jack's mouth. Jack bit at it and stepped free from Will's grapple into the street. He eyed a prostitute on the street hopefully as she batted her thickly decorated eyelashes at him.  
"Ow! Shut up you scoundrel! You're still wanted here!"  
"Apparently." Jack was still staring at the street whore who was now pouting and whimpering at him.  
Will pulled him away, walking towards the docks – and his home. "You're drunk."  
Jack looked at him, a dazed, puzzled expression on his face. "Drunk? Never!"  
And as soon as his head spun to face the docks once more, the pirate's eyes widened and he abruptly turned around, startling Will. "Well, m'dear boy, I s'pose I'll be leavin' …"  
Will looked concernedly at him – "What is it? Soldiers?"  
Eyes still wide, Jack stared at him and pulled him closer. "Wors'n the whole bloody garrison." He nodded in the direction of the dock. Will glanced that way. Nothing peculiar. People, teaming all around – more like dark silhouettes of shadow, really.  
"What?"  
Jack kept nodding that way. Will continued to stare.  
"There's nothing, Jack! Drinking's finally addled your brain!"  
"Look hard'r, boy."  
And so he did. Searching in the direction of Jack's head, he found himself staring at an odd character that sat alone on rope against the dock.  
"The girl?"  
Jack looked around – "Aye."  
Will looked intently at the lone figure perched atop one of the posts that kept civilians from falling into the port water. In the dim light, he could make out short hair that lapped gently in the humid evening breeze, a profile of nothing exquisite in the least, and like another female pirate he had once had the surprise of meeting, she wore britches and a billowing shirt. Two items jutted out from her side, and in the dying moon's light, he could make out a pistol and a cutlass.  
"Who is she?"  
Jack, still looking as though he'd accidentally taken a sip of molten fire, looked Will in the eyes. "Ye wouldn' wan' ter be messin' with that lass."  
"Is she dangerous?"  
Jack glanced waywardly at the outline of the girl. "Aye. If ye get on 'er bad side."  
"And I suppose you have?"  
Jack paused. "Le's jus' say it's a matter of 'leverage'."  
The blacksmith looked at the girl; or at least, the spot where she was sitting, now devoid of its former occupant.  
"What did you do to her?"  
"I …"  
Jack never got to finish his sentence for himself, as a kick landed on his back, sending him sprawling to the dirty street.  
  
"You lost me my crew." 


End file.
